To Have and to Hold
by Illead
Summary: "Sometimes, Matthew Williams questioned what his relationship with Francis actually was. It could go one of two ways: either he was here, or gone, no questions. For days at a time he would be gone, doing who knew what." A heavily hinting fanfic with Franada, in third person omniscient. Rated T for hinted events that I'm not brave enough to write. One-shot.


**To Have and to Hold**

Sometimes, Matthew Williams questioned what his relationship with Francis actually was. It could go one of two ways: either he was here, or gone, no questions. For days at a time he would be gone, doing who knew what. There was a cold feeling in the house- their house-knowing the Frenchman was cheating. He'd never denied it, hiding away when Matthew started to cry. Although, sending the man he loved out the door was unconcieveable, after the last four years together, in this house. They were special, a bond not meant to happen. A mystery, a miracle. Matt would say it was luck, Francis 'fate.' He wasn't Alfred's Mattie, Ivan's Matvey, Gilbert's Birdie, or Arthur's Matthew. Those relations passed.

He'd been Francis' Matthieu for the last five years. They were drunk one night, miraculously at the same bar, and one thing led to another, as they took a cab to Francis' place. Both were drunk, and since both came with company to the bar, it was almost convenient. Francis and Arthur went for a few drinks, whereas Mattie went to drink one glass of wine. Alfred skittered off with Arthur, and since Matthew ordered fish as well, seeing you couldn't drink wine on an empty stomach, Francis offered to buy him a drink. He agreed, stupidly.

So the Frenchman brought the already-tipsy Canadian another drink, intentionally. Something that cute had to be claimed by someone, right? By three drinks, roughly an hour gone by, Mattie was babbling about snow and fireplaces. Francis found this more open side of him worth exploring. It was how Francis had the best morning after he'd ever hand; while Matthew had the worst pain and hangover he'd experienced yet. This is how they got to be a couple, which seemed more comical than anything else.

In this way, it wasn't exactly very good at the time, but Francis had his way with getting his Matthieu to forgive him. Not that it wasn't always the make-up sex, though they both liked that, putting them at ease, the chaotic existence they made together more bareable. Maybe it was always that, the physical aspect, though the love was there without. It was the way Matthew would blush at the kiss on his forehead, how Francis would cook for him, or just snugged with him watching television. Without Francis, Matthew only had Kuma and his brother, not much company by anyone's standards.

But it wasn't that he got Matt to fall for him after every betrayal... It was more than that, much more. It was the love they shared after their first Christmas, the first together in their new home. That year together told them they needed each other around more often. The longing was obvious. Francis' honest smile melted all the jealousy behind the backstories of Alfie, Arthur, Michelle, Bella, Antonio... When he smiled, Matt only had to hear his name, said in that way of his.

"Matthieu?" Matthew dropped the pancakes batter in the sink by accident. Was that... Was it really...? He cleaned up his batter and looked to the kitchen door.

And so, today the door opened. His husband was home! Matthew peeked through the kitchen window, the swinging door with a window for either of them to see out of. Francis was a chef for a living, and he liked that window of opportunity to welcome anyone if no one was home. Matt's heart melted, figuratively, at the roses Francis held: black for sorrow and sadness, regret and dead hope. Just one, in the middle of red roses, for passion, the white roses, both six of each color, meaning surrender, asking for innocence, which he could never fully claim as it was. Putting the apron on the hook by the swinging door, he smiled brightly, the best smile in four days. In the green-stripped turtle neck and common jeans, a tad stained. Times like these, Mattie tackled him once the roses were safe, those familiar arms around his waist.

"Francis! I missed you!" Matthew laughed softly, warmly, to fill up the cold that engulfed him for four days, now gone.

"Je suis desolee, Matthieu, mon amour... It won't 'appen again. I promise." This, of course, was bound to happen the same way next time. It was how the lived, but he always came home to him eventually. Thus everything was in order again, balanced, perfectly aligned. No matter what happened, they would be there for the other, to go back on their unholy vows, for Francis, while Matthew remained faithful. Kumajirou, asleep in the corner, didn't even wake up. All he did was stir. Thus was their life.

** There we go! I'm not dead, just really busy. I just got finished with a chorus concert yesterday for school. poem writing and short story writing mostly, aside from the obvious issue of school giving less time to type things up... I have more to come!

Don't worry, I didn't leave you alone. This took forever to write up! I have stories to finish still. Any who, if I messed up Francis' accent I am so, so sorry. I'm bad with accents. Also, I don't own Hetalia~ I wish I did, but we can't have everything, huh?

Translation:

_Je suis desolee, Matthieu, mon amour._ = **I am sorry, Matthew, my love.**

All my love,

_~Illead_ **


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